


April Fools

by LaughableLament



Series: Supernatural Poetry Month [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Cigarette Smoking, Community: spnapo, Dean/OFC (offscreen), Domestic Brotherhood, Farmer's Markets, Multi, National Poetry Writing Month, Smut Poem, good food, poetry collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-09-28 02:43:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17174351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: Five poems for National Poetry Writing Month 2018 andSupernatural.





	1. April Fools

**Author's Note:**

> All works cross-posted from [spnapo](https://www.livejournal.com/update.bml#)

Southbound and down.  
Roadside dogwood  
blooms pepper pink.  
Afternoon sun  
slants, glance dances.  
Mile mark.  
Rearview.  
Six-pack clinks.  
Zep cassette in  
the deck and Sam—  
right-hand  
wing-man  
—naps shotgun. Snores,  
slobbers.  
Shifts in his sleep,  
weak-sheepish grin.  
Palm scrubs his cheek.  
_Where are we?_  
Wheels spin.  
_Tennessee._


	2. Butchered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Canonical character death (S3 finale)

Ears ring Deanscreams. Blinked-back blind spots,  
Lilith-in-Ruby-meat retreats.  
Ghostprint fades photo negative.

Kneedrop. Cradle. Glassy vacant  
grassy stare. Rust-flavored forehead  
kiss, licked lips, last chance brother-taste.

Dead weight. Red spreads. Head rolls, profile  
perfect. Not even Hellhounds had  
the heart to hurt that freckleface.

Tears streak blood cheeks. Gore-steeped amulet  
slips over chin; cord catches  
ears. Wrap around a wrist and rise.

Mirror. Sticky palm grasps antler  
handle. Teeth clench, knuckles curl.  
Memory of a nightmare pings.

 _Boyking_.


	3. Spa Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW Words
> 
> Prompt: when Baby is happiest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A birthday hat-tip to [WetSammyWinchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester). Poet thanks [emmatheslayer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmatheslayer) for the prompt and [crowroad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowroad) for the pep talk.

Rear window. Sam  
(chin-meet-pavement)  
cannonballed, jeans  
to his knees, three  
fingers deep.

Oil and air  
filters, fresh.  
Spark-plugs checked.

Touch thighs, soles  
of his feet. Trace  
his slicked, shined,  
stretch. Push, pet.

Hot wash. Circled  
and striped suds,  
water warred.

Straight spank bank.  
Sam caught, Baby’s  
backseat bonus.  
Shorts hit the floor.  
Open doorframe  
brace, high-gloss  
black waxed warped face.

Lobbed sponge splattered.  
Spit foam. Coldsprayed  
retaliation.

Choked groan, Sam’s butt  
clamps. Fists bang;  
(baseball stats)  
pull it back.  
Fall. Familiar  
heat slick grip.  
Thighs slap. Soft,  
staccato _ohs_.  
Piston him.  
Come hollerin’.

Road grime gray suds  
snaked for the drain.


	4. Devil's Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “[drifting smoke](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/post/171659560964/cigarette-smoke-dean-winchester-or-maybe)” — original art by [Nisaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki/pseuds/Nisaki). Thank you for the sexy, sexy prompt.

One-night-wonder—  
_got a sitter until six_ —  
soft-clicked her way out.  
Dean roused.  
Chest arced,  
sheet dipped for his navel.  
Nightstand.  
Time check  
(no calls no texts)  
Whiskey-sweat and sex,  
drugstore perfume,  
Camel Light.  
Tipped out of its soft pack.  
Not many smoking rooms,  
anymore,  
not that Sam—  
Crown of thorns.  
Zippo clicked.  
Crowley,  
Cherry glowed,  
forced jaw,  
long draw,  
wormed way down.  
chest burned.  
Whatever.  
Smoke rings.  
Sam,  
Breath like ghost.  
pissed-off,  
Ash grew.  
beat riding this rock without him.


	5. Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Inspired by “time off” and “them just being people.” Much love to [](https://anniespinkhouse.livejournal.com/profile)[**anniespinkhouse**](https://anniespinkhouse.livejournal.com/) and [](https://onehotmama199.livejournal.com/profile)[**onehotmama199**](https://onehotmama199.livejournal.com/). <333

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prose-poem, domestic brotherhood

Sam found this market at Lebanon First Baptist. Mostly members, farm wives, selling surplus from their personal gardens. Corn and green beans, squash, all the herbs.

Strawberry pie—home-grown, real whipped cream—got Dean to ride out with him the next Saturday. By coincidence, Sam swore, Gurley’s Meats pulled up a cold truck.

“Sammy, you been holdin out on me!” Dean buzzed. Rubbed palms and sucked lips.

*

Sam found an app. Coming off hunts, needing to stretch leg anyway. Amish country: pickles and peppers, mason jars of maple syrup. Five flavors of hand-canned jam outside a strip mall in Kentucky. Broccoli so fresh from an Iowa Urgent Care, Sam found live inch worms when he cut in.

Pies. Always pies. Rhubarb, peach, pecan, and pumpkin. Ice cream, whipped cream. Sometimes not even a fork, just face and fingers.

“Want some?”

“Idiot.”

*

Dean finds hot sauce in Georgia, lot of another First Baptist. Three-piece string band—fiddle, banjo, and stand-up bass—picks old-time religion. Fresh eggs. Beef tamales and honey, garnet red.

Flirty forty-something: “One chocolate chess pie.”

Dean slips her a twenty.

“Y’put real cream on this, y’hear me? Not that crap from a can.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Licks teeth.

*

Later, “Boneless buffalo bites! Grilled, for your precious cholesterol.” Dean bundles his with bacon strips, a lettuce scrap, and a quarter-cup ranch in a wrap.

Sam’s served a salad. Ranch on the side.

“You like?” Orange goo plasters his shirt.

Sam nods, mouth full.

“Good, cause you’re doin the dishes.” Greasy napkin arcs, grazes a cheek.

“Then you’re finding us a case.”

Dean collects plates.


End file.
